


#snowpocalypse

by allthatglitters



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), GlamRPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthatglitters/pseuds/allthatglitters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for inoru_no_hoshi's prompt at fic_promptly:  Glam RPF, author's choice, watching the Glasgow snowfall</p>
            </blockquote>





	#snowpocalypse

Tommy stares out the window for a ridiculously long time before Adam intervenes, sliding in behind him, dropping chin to shoulder and murmuring quietly, "What're you looking at?"

Six months of close contact (thanks to this seemingly never-ending tour) means Tommy doesn't flinch, doesn't startle, doesn't even blink at Adam's sudden proximity.

"Snow." He says, succinctly.

Adam snorts.

Tommy scowls, as much as he can when snuggled close to Adam's warmth. "Yeah yeah, like you aren't from California too. S'pretty!"

"Indianapolis _first_. And yes, pretty, mmmhmmm, from in here. And if you don't have to try to travel in it." And there's something just off enough in Adam's voice that it has Tommy turning away from the sparkling glory outside the window that had held him hypnotized, turning into the equally sparkling glory of Adam, who has apparently been letting Sutan experiment since soundcheck, because those crystals on his eyes were not there the last time Tommy saw him.

"What's up?" Straightforward, because Adam will tell him, won't play games or try to hide whatever it is, because that's not who he is. Not what they are.

Adam sighs. "Nothing I can do anything about. S'just, I was checking Twitter...."

Tommy frowns, because there are oh so many ways for that to be bad. Adam shakes his head though, and his eyes are soft, so Tommy relaxes slightly, and leans into Adam, and listens.

"...and the snow is fucking things up for people trying to get here, there are fans stuck in airports and everything, and they're upset, and I just... I feel bad. For them. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's _November_." He sighs again, deeper, and Tommy feels his chest rise and fall.

And this, Tommy knows, is why no-one can fucking resist Adam Lambert. The man is a giant teddy bear in body glitter and cock-ring jewelry. He cares, he's a total fucking sweetheart, and that comes through loud and clear no matter what he wears or how much he gropes himself on stage. He slides his arms around Adam's waist and snuggles close. "M'sorry, that sucks."

He feels rather than sees Adam's nod, his head tucked neatly in against the curve of Adam's neck, warm and spicy-sweet, but it's all they need. There's nothing to say after all, nothing to be done except give the fans who are here (and that will be most of them, Tommy knows, Adam's fans are fucking terrifying when something stands between them and their glittering idol and they will get themselves here one way or another, however much they may be bitching on Twitter right now) the best show possible, and in a few minutes they will have to go and get ready to do just that. Adam will sparkle and shine for them, and they'll scream for him, and it'll be business as usual.

But for now this is all there is, all there needs to be, just warmth and comfort and the slow swirl of snow outside.


End file.
